It was one of those gray, misty mornings that only Northern California can conjure — a gentle, endless drizzle that blurs the edges of everything. I was alone in our new rental home in Dublin, California, with my fourteen-month-old, the soft hum of the rain and the baby monitor as my only company. We had only just moved in, and I didn’t know another soul in town. My daily connection to the adult world came from brief chats at the playground, but that day, even that small comfort was stolen by the weather.
So, craving even the smallest bit of human warmth, I buckled my toddler into her car seat and drove through the rain to the nearest coffee shop drive-thru — just to hear another adult’s voice, even if it was only to ask how my day was and hand me an overpriced latte.
By afternoon, the clouds finally broke. The damp air shimmered faintly with sunlight, and it felt like a small mercy. I packed up the stroller and we made our way to the nearby park. The swings were still slick with rain, but an empty bucket swing waited, and my heart lightened a little as I lifted my daughter in and heard her delighted laugh.
Then another mother arrived, her toddler about the same age. She smiled — that rare, open smile of someone who sees you. We struck up a conversation, and instantly it felt different: easy, warm, genuine. We spoke about the enormous challenges of motherhood — the endless days, the exhaustion, the beauty, the loneliness. For the first time in weeks, I felt understood. I thought, Maybe I’ve finally met someone who gets it.
An hour passed without notice, and I felt an almost giddy relief — like sunlight breaking through after too many gray days. We exchanged numbers, promising a playdate soon. I looked at my watch; it was nearly time to head home before the dreaded witching hour. But she lingered, asking me to stay just a bit longer.
And then, the shift — subtle at first. She began talking about real estate, about “opportunities” and “investments.” I smiled politely, thinking it was just idle talk. But the conversation turned sharper, more insistent — how it’s never the right time to wait, how you don’t even need money to start.
And suddenly, with a cold, sinking clarity, I understood.
The air seemed to thicken. Two hours of connection, laughter, shared stories — and it hadn’t been friendship at all. I wasn’t seen; I was sized up. She wasn’t searching for companionship — she was recruiting.
That realization broke something tender in me. I can still feel it — that mix of disbelief and sadness. The quiet ache of realizing that in one of the loneliest seasons of my life, even the small hope of friendship had been turned into a transaction.
It’s a small heartbreak, maybe, but it’s the kind that lingers — because it teaches you how even kindness can be weaponized when someone sees your loneliness as an opportunity.
A Final Thought
This is my story — my encounter with the world of multi-level marketing — but I know I’m not alone. Many moms have their own version of this tale. Some have been drawn in deeper, perhaps even joined, like I once did in my early twenties when I found myself selling Mary Kay. It’s not something to be ashamed of. These schemes are designed to prey on hope, connection, and trust — the very things that make us human.
If you’ve been caught in one, there is help, and there is a way out. You are not foolish — you were targeted.
So when I hear that our moms are being targeted for the latest wave of “innovative” MLMs, I can’t stay silent. I have to speak up, to fight back, to make sure no one else feels that same sting of betrayal on a rainy afternoon at the park.
Please, be vigilant. If something sounds too good to be true, it almost always is. MLMs often teach their members to alienate loved ones and friends and to see doubt as disloyalty. Many of those involved are victims themselves — people who’ve been misled and manipulated. It’s a heartbreaking cycle, one we’ve seen play out in too many documentaries and real lives.
Let’s break that cycle together. Speak up. Share your story. And if someone from within your circle or our community has reached out with promises that feel off, let’s warn others — with compassion, with courage, and with the hope that fewer of us will have to learn the hard way.
Always Have, Always Will ~ Kalie